


(you're so emotionally unavailable)

by spills



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: FWBs, M/M, Morning After And Being Sleepy, Motoya is also being a Little Bitch, Rintarou is being a Bitch, musings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-22
Updated: 2020-11-22
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:21:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27668119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spills/pseuds/spills
Summary: “Can I stay?”
Relationships: Komori Motoya/Suna Rintarou
Comments: 10
Kudos: 31





	(you're so emotionally unavailable)

**Author's Note:**

> [ nine ](https://twitter.com/naoivrse) sent me a preview of something she comm-ed and i have. i have serious brainworms. like. motoya had fuckboi vibes, it was so neat...

**“Can I stay?”**

Motoya hates that it’s probably 9am if he had to guess from how bright the sky, sunlight pouring through the window generously as the curtains are drawn. He hates that he isn’t fully awake and he’s getting a terrible, bad and no good question.

Asking something like that was just plain rude, especially when he hasn’t had either caffeine or nicotine yet. Getting his hands on coffee now is out of the question though, so he allows his arm to fumble slightly when reaching for his bedside table. His fingers find his lighter easily, plastic smooth underneath his palm. He struggles finding his box of cigarettes though and he has to crawl to the edge of his bed because it’s on the edge of the table. 

It fucking sucks and he knows that he’s being rude to his guest but being honest, he wasn’t even expecting his guest to stay until morning. Sure they had fallen asleep together after a fit of giggles and careless kisses, but Motoya was expecting to wake up alone snuggled around his cursed teddy bear of a plushie. He throws it a glance, noting how one of the stitches of his limbs are coming undone. Maybe he’ll fix it up later, maybe tomorrow. Maybe he’ll let the limb come loose and watch the stuffing make a mess on his bedroom floor. 

He doesn’t care. More accurately, he doesn’t want to care.  _ Ask stupid questions get stupid questions  _ is what he doesn’t say, tapping the bottom of his box center of his palm. Pops it open to push out a cigarette, he’s running low on them, and places it between his teeth. It takes him three tries to get a fire started from his lighter, annoyance reverberating in his throat before he manages to light his cigarette. 

Motoya takes a long drag, inhales slowly, savours the taste in his throat, how it curls around his lungs, before he finally exhales. A little less disoriented, he looks up, takes his cigarette out his mouth and places it between his fingers. A crooked smile shows on his face - he wasn’t expecting Suna to actually wait for an answer. 

Suna who’s all dressed up in his clothes from yesterday. Nice bomber threw his crop top, ripped skinny jeans clinging to the muscles of his legs. If it were another morning, maybe Motoya would be thinking about getting him back into bed for another fuck. Questions like  **_[can I stay?]_ ** really do ruin the mood, and he’s hoping Suna gets the memo just so he won’t need to answer. 

Instead, Suna stands there - waiting, patient, a predator stalking its prey, and while Motoya thinks being pinned under that stare is hot, it’s more oppressive in this situation. They’ve managed to bumble along with what they have now without much words, he doesn’t get why Suna is looking for validation about what they are now. It’s too early for this, Suna would have better luck asking him when he’s drunk out of his mind, when affection pours out of him easy. 

“You can do whatever you want,” is what Motoya ends up saying, because the word  **[leave]** just won’t come out. It sounds too final, and were it anyone else, he wouldn’t care if they never came back. He’s fine as it is but Suna’s good company when he wants to be, funny without trying in a dry and snarky way, and he always smells nice. Finding someone that always smells nice is difficult and Komori hates that he knows that if he told the other man to fuck off now, he would probably miss his scent. 

Suna laughs at his answer, shoes left at the door and pads back to Motoya’s bed. He takes a seat on the mattress, right beside Motoya. His smile is a wicked thing, sharp at the edges before he plants a smooch on the other man’s forehead. Motoya grimaces, takes another drag and blows it in front of Suna’s face. Suna coughs and then proceeds to chuckle in amusement. Grey ash drops from the red cherry to the floor, Motoya just wants Suna to shut up, but doesn’t work for the silence for once. 

“Someone’s in a bad mood today,” Suna muses as he gets up - brushes invisible dust off from his jacket. Motoya knows that it’ll smell like smoke now and later, Suna is probably going to send him a bitchy text complaining about it. Motoya doesn’t deign him with an answer, just a flat look. “If you want me to fuck off you can just say so ‘Toya,” Suna muses, “Promise I won’t get offended.”

Motoya merely rolls his eyes. “I already told you, you can do whatever you want.” 

“Mhmm,” Suna hums dispassionately as he makes his way towards the door, “that the case, I’ll see you when I see you then,” turns the knob, opens the door, leaves.

He lies in bed, unsure what exactly he was expecting. Maybe he wants Suna to stay anyway - but that would require offering something in exchange. Motoya doesn’t think he has anything worth for such a trade. Or anything he wants to give doesn’t seem to be something he can offer in the first place. 

Motoya stubs the cigarette on the ashtray, not in the mood to finish his smoke. Considers getting out of bed, but doesn’t really feel like it either. Usually, he would have woken up at 6am, and had gone for a run. That’s how he likes to spend his Saturday- ah wait, no, it’s a Sunday. 

Sunday… a small scoff escapes his mouth, and he gets up. Goes to the bathroom to wash up, brush his teeth and figures maybe he’ll feel better feeling clean. Too bad he’s still in yesterday’s shirt, and oh yeah, he got fucked pretty ruthlessly in it. 

Tries to remember the details, wonders if he accidentally said  _ I love you _ at some point.

The words  _ bae _ being spread across his chest, and Motoya can’t help the bitter chuckle that escapes his mouth. The shirt isn’t even his - a gift from someone who’s name he doesn’t even remember. Considers the word itself, squeezes the tube of toothpaste with a little too much force. 

Bae - it’d be nice to belong to someone, too bad he doesn’t know how to make someone else stay. Doesn’t like being pathetic, so he’d take his chances with each chance that comes by his way. Maybe he’ll see Rin tomorrow. Maybe next week.

Maybe Motoya will find himself on Rin’s doorstep instead. Hook-up after hook-up, and Motoya tells himself that this is good enough. 


End file.
